Too Many Coincidences
by BC
Summary: Alex Rider is not the only child in dire need of therapy. Meeting a boy named Harry, he gets a chance to peek in on the wizarding world.
1. Cubs Meeting

Summary: Alex Rider is not the only child in dire need of therapy. Meeting a boy named Harry, he gets a chance to peek in on the wizarding world.

Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz, Harry Potter to J. K. Rowling. Neither of whom is me. I get no money for this.

Warnings: merged timelines, slight DH AU, alive!Remus, angry!Harry, agent!Alex, underage drinking

A/N: I found this on my hard-drive. It's a bit aged, but still funny – I think. Hopefully, you'll laugh at least once. Cheers.

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Too Many Coincidences

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Chapter One: Cubs Meeting

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It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and there were quite a few activities Alex would have engaged in rather than waiting for his weekly government-financed hour of psychotherapy. Still, as a seventeen-year-old with three years of practice in one of the most demanding jobs in existence, he knew to be glad that he had a chance to be there at all – there being currently the end of a corridor in a wing of a clinic, between white-washed walls intermittently decorated with posters promoting all kinds of drugs to fry people's brains, sitting on one of those sharp-edged, not-really-upholstered chairs.

The clock on the wall showed two-fifty, and according to Alex' wristwatch was about three minutes ahead, which meant he had almost quarter of an hour before the start of his session with Dr Anne Willowcrook, the (probably) only psychotherapist paid by the military that specialised in therapy for children and teenagers. He swept the hallway from left to right, found he was still blissfully alone, and returned to his book.

Then a door cracked open.

"Cub!"

Alex, suddenly alert, lifted the book in his hand so that it would cover most of his face and warily looked over its top. The voice was unfamiliar, but they knew his designation, which meant nothing good: either MI6 had sent someone from the SAS after him and there was trouble, or the other side (represented by devil-knew-who today) had found him and there was _big_ trouble.

He looked up just in time to see a boy roughly his own age kick the up-to-now half-open door to Dr Willowcrook's office so hard that it hit the wall, and stride out. He looked decidedly murderous, but that was about the last thing that worried Alex. For one, those with homicidal intentions usually bothered to mask them, for the other, this slip of a boy was almost a head smaller than Alex, and thin as rake.

"Cub, wait!" called a middle-aged man from the threshold of the office and ran out in pursuit of the furious teenager. He caught up right in front of the cluster of chairs where Alex was cowering behind his literary shield, and caught the boy's elbow.

He must have had greater physical strength than Alex would have expected of someone as worn-out as he appeared, for the action fully arrested the boy's progress.

"Harry…" the man pleaded.

The boy ('Harry,' apparently, also known as 'Cub') spun, without even attempting to free his arm. He came face to chest with the man, craned his neck looking up, and compounded his hateful expression by adding a twist of lips to it.

"Cub-"

"Yes, _Mr Big Bad Wolf_?" the boy snarled sarcastically, and Alex felt his jaw drop. 'Cub' he could accept as a term of endearment, but there was such a thing as 'too improbable.' Of which this was a textbook example.

"_Harry_," the man said in a soft tone that was meant to placate, "will you come back, please? I know that you don't want to do this, but I cannot help you myself and you do need help-"

"Never needed it before," the boy snapped. "Why do you _suddenly_ care?" He was lashing out, and if Alex was reading the signs correctly (flushed cheeks, accelerated breathing, shaking hands), he was on the verge of a panic attack. However, intruding upon the contretemps by instructing the man to let go would not have been a good idea.

"Mr Lupin, would you please let me speak with Harry alone?" Dr Willowcrook, standing in the doorway of her office, came to the rescue. She glanced at Alex, nodded in greeting, and waited for the two people with no concept of keeping their privacy private to return to her.

'Harry' tore his arm out of the now slack grip, stepped past 'Mr Lupin' and walked back to the doctor. Alex noticed that despite his rather casual clothes (black jeans and off-white short-sleeved shirt) the teenager carried himself like… like a fighter. Like Alex himself might have, alert and ready to spring, anxious in unknown surroundings, among unknown people.

As a matter of fact, Alex felt like he was looking into a skewed mirror: were it not for the messy halo of dark hair, glasses, and a notable lack of muscle-mass (the boy was positively scrawny), he might have been watching himself a year ago, after he and MI6 had reached what he called in his head 'the compromise' (he had resigned himself to working for them and they started treating him like a real agent), during his first psychotherapy session. He might have been less vocal about it, but the displeasure and general annoyance with the necessity he was loath to admit had been on par with what 'Harry' was displaying.

That was… worrisome.

It became more than worrisome a moment later when 'Mr Lupin' took a seat one chair down to Alex's left, slumped, and barely waited for the office door to close before he initiated a _casual_ conversation.

"Hello," he said.

Alex was in the middle of a chapter, and while little exciting was happening to the protagonists, he would have much preferred finding out how they would fare to socialising with this stranger. Still, his job had driven him to paranoia, and he seized the chance to assess a potential threat.

"Hi," he said with his best 'I'm a harmless teenager' grin.

The man sniffed the air and his eyes seemed to cross for a moment before he stuttered: "A-are y-you a client of Dr Willowcrook?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah," he said with a hint of American accent that never failed to make him appear the epitome of a consumer of modern pop-culture… ergo brainless. "She's pretty nice, so don't worry 'bout your son." If the boy was this man's son, Alex would have eaten his sneakers, but the best way to extract correct information form unsuspecting respondents was making incorrect assumptions.

It worked like a charm.

"Err… Harry's not my son." The man squared his shoulders, uncomfortable. "I love the Cub, but we've never really been that close… and I'm afraid he's going to hate me for making him come here."

Alex scrunched up his nose. It hurt, but the effect was guaranteed. "Yeah, no one likes going to the shrink. Makes you feel like you're mental. I threatened to run away from home the first time they made go." Okay, so that was total bullshit, but the mild-looking, graying, forty-ish man didn't pick up on it, so that was what mattered.

"I hope Harry will reconsider. He is a strong kid, but…"

"Tough times?" Alex asked carelessly.

"Indescribably," Mr Lupin sighed. "I know he's not alright, but he won't talk to me – I don't know what else to do."

Well, he certainly sounded like he was legit. Alex was half-inclined to believe that this pair of strange people was really who they appeared to be: a guardian and a charge in search of some professional help. Better safe than sorry (or dead), though.

Alex packed the book into his backpack and made himself as comfortable as the un-padded chair allowed. In a low voice, a mixture of curiosity and confidentiality, he asked: "He do drugs?"

The horror on Lupin's face was all the answer Alex needed. No drugs. No weapons. Probably not even excessive violence or mortal danger. Maybe their dog had died. They were _normal_ people.

Well, whatever passed for normal in this messed-up world.

Dr Willowcrook's door opened again and 'Harry' walked out. He still held himself straight, but there was a palpable air of defeat around him, mixed with some thoughtfulness.

"Fine, Remus," he said, spotting Lupin and setting out toward him. "You win once again. Not that it should surprise me – was I ever allowed to make _any_ decision on my own?"

Lupin rose to his feet, glanced at Alex and muttered something that could have been 'thank for the chat and bye.' Then he pulled the boy to his chest in a bear-hug.

'Harry' allowed it, but made it more than obvious that the gesture was unwelcome.

Alex watched them go, for a moment deeming the boy ungrateful that he had _anyone_ in his life who wanted to hug him. Then he imagined how he would react if Wolf ever tried anything like that (hard sci-fi, but for the sake of an argument…) and shuddered.

"Alex?" Dr Willowcrook called out.

He sighed and went to have his head shrunk.

x

A week later Alex was back and, lo and behold, so were the two presumed civilians – except this time they were three.

Mr Remus John Lupin, a thirty-nine year old British citizen with a teaching degree, currently unemployed (according to what Alex had managed to scrounge from files accessible to him), recent widower and a father to Theodore Lupin was slumped in one of the torture chairs, his eyes closed and dark circles stark underneath them. To his chest he was holding a sleeping baby (presumably Theodore).

According to frequency of the rising of his chest, he was awake.

Still, Alex could pretend that he thought the man was asleep, and thence was absolved of the social niceties like greeting-

"Hello," Lupin said softly, notably without opening his eyes. He could have heard footsteps, certainly, but there was something niggling about a man that would greet _anyone_.

"Hi," Alex replied as stupidly as he was able to, and pulled out his book.

Lupin didn't get the hint. Smiling so wide that his crows' feet practically piled together, he turned, finally taking a look at Alex. "I apologise, but I forgot to introduce myself last time we met. I am Remus Lupin, and this little bundle of joy-" he nodded to the baby, "-is my son Ted. It's a pleasure to meet you again."

"'m Alex," Alex replied and made a valiant attempt to return to his book. He should have been studying the file on his next mission instead, but policy said no classified information could be carried out of the Bank, except in 'special' circumstances with 'special' authorization from the 'special' people. Hence: fiction.

"Are you from the United States?" the irrepressible man spoke again. The baby in his grip wiggled a bit, and he hurriedly adjusted his bonnet.

Alex glanced up, and decided that a civilian driven into conversation by boredom was not worth the bother of creating a persona on the spot (at least not past the pretending he had a two-digit IQ).

"Nah. Just went on a trip there," he said eventually, glancing at the clock. About five minutes were left – the Doctor rarely stretched a session past the allotted time. Alex resolved to become more punctual, because while he did have a lot of practice at acting like a teenager, he didn't enjoy it a bit.

"Did you like it?" Lupin inquired.

"Nah. 's a stupid country full of crazy an' stupid people."

Lupin seemed taken aback, then somewhat judgmental, and in the end his attention was diverted to the baby, who started squirming. The man set his son on the next chair and turned to him, blocking him from Alex' sight with the grey expanse of jacket-covered back.

Alex grabbed the opportunity to read the next paragraph. He managed a couple of sentences, before his pager beeped and his day – dammit, his week! – went to hell in hand-basket.

Theodore Lupin, roused by the shrill sound from his semi-somnolent state started screaming to high heavens, Remus Lupin rushed to quiet him, Harry What's-his-name kicked Willowcrook's door open, reaching to his back for a weapon with practiced motion, and Alex Rider calmly stood from the chair, stuffed his book into his backpack, and said: "Sorry. Emergency. Tell the Doc I'll call her for the next date."

"Bye, Alex!" Lupin called automatically, while leaping from his seat the prevent 'Harry the Cub' from going trigger-happy, and leaving his child to howl his lungs out.

Walking out of the Bedlam, Alex allowed himself a little sigh and then steeled himself for whatever near-apocalypse was to come in the next few hours. MI6 only ever paged him anymore when some urgent world-saving was desperately needed.

x

Alex was back two weeks later – and five minutes too early, since scaling the London Eye in motion put him into an adrenaline high that made him forget about more than just his resolution.

He paused on top of the stairs and then decided that to hell with Lupin and his inquisitiveness, he was going to sit down before his legs gave up on him.

Two steps later he literally ran into – or, rather, was run into – by someone who, thank devil for small mercies, wasn't Lupin. The person seemed more shocked, but also far steadier on their feet (maybe Alex should have listened to the doctors and taken it easy, but he had difficulties remembering what 'easy' meant).

The assailant – Harry the Cub – shot out a hand and gripped Alex' shoulder to steady him. Then he rapidly let go, muttered: "Sorry!" and spun on his heel to stalk down the hallway. Alex watched him stride off while he moved to the nearest chair, watched him reach the far wall, swivel and come back at the same furious pace, clutching his fists, scowling at the floor, with hair that seemed to stand on ends as if the air was full of static.

Now Alex was beginning to recall the last time. This boy's reaction to a child's scream was to barge in and reach for a weapon automatically… Alex observed him as he passed by again, but he could see no bulge that would signify a gun. Maybe last time Willowcrook had noticed and pointed out regulations? Not that Alex would have come completely weaponless, regulations or none, but even he tended to leave his gun home. He always kept at least a packet of Smithers' chewing gum on him, and usually a knife, too (hardened plastic to avoid detectors – not the most durable, but in a pinch it did nicely).

"I'm sorry for running into you," Harry spoke suddenly, coming to a halt. Presumably he had worked through some of his anger, although Alex could still see why the kid would have needed psychotherapy.

"No harm," Alex replied.

"If you say so," Harry returned and seemed to lose further interest.

Alex appreciated that, as opposed to his guardian, the boy wasn't going to force him into mindless chatter. He wasn't given a long time to rejoice, however, as Harry was momentarily joined by Lupin and Willowcrook, who exited the office.

Grave expressions were exchanged in all directions. For once Alex really didn't want to know.

"Mr Lupin and I have come to a conclusion, Harry," the Doctor said, trying to sound sympathetic, but coming across as rather frustrated.

The twist of lips that was Harry's reaction showed clearly what he thought of her attempt.

"Cub," Lupin interjected, apparently the only one who didn't pick up on the brewing storm, "we're just trying to help you-"

"Sure," Harry sneered. "_Now_ everybody's trying to help. And everybody's and expert on how to best help me. Shove it, Remus! I got through everything up to now on my own, and I'll get through everything from now on the same way. If I wanted to talk, I'd have rung up Hermione."

"Harry-"

"Harry," Willowcrook cut in before the guardian and charge came to blows, "I believe we have ascertained that you feel your experiences isolate you from other people, and I can tell that it is a justified feeling on your part. However, you deliberately further isolate yourself, and in the long run that will only hurt you."

Harry shrugged.

Willowcrook's mouth tightened – another clear sign of frustration – and she patted Lupin's upper arm.

Harry took a preemptive step back, just in case she attempted to touch him, too. Alex glanced at his watch. A minute past three. Not that he was going to stand up and draw attention to himself. He was just fine with sitting there and waiting until the two frustrating probably-civilians (accounting for Harry's demeanor and reaction, plus the fact that going on a first name that might or might not have been a diminutive, and a relation to Lupin, Alex had not managed to discover the identity of the boy) went away.

"Alex!"

Alex, unwillingly, glanced up.

Willowcrook was giving him what appeared to be a pleading look, all doe eyes and scrunched-up forehead.

"Yes?"

"Would you be willing to join a session with another client?"

Harry picked up on her intention instantly. He went white and re-fisted his hands – all in all he looked ready to kill, or at least hurt, someone. He couldn't have been more obvious if he had yelled 'I don't want to do this!' and pulled the mysterious weapon on his supremely annoying guardian.

Alex was tempted to say no out of pity for the boy, but if Harry was anything like himself… which he probably wasn't, but if he was… "Okay, sure." Alex wouldn't have been Alex if he let sleeping dogs lie and bizarre coincidences like the meeting of two 'Cubs' pass uninvestigated. Call it occupational disease.

"Mr Lupin," Willowcrook addressed the only adult man (for all that he was arguably the least intelligent one) present, "I would like for Harry to have a joint session with another of my clients as an outsider witness. I believe their interaction would be beneficial to both of them, but I would first like your opinion."

Interestingly, Harry somehow managed to completely close off. Suddenly there was no sign of his anger, not even resignation, just a stony face, still somewhat discoloured with his previous pallor, but completely blank. The boy pushed his glasses higher on his nose and leaned away from the adults, body language betraying his mask of indifference. It was a good try, but Alex was too skilled at reading people.

Lupin, startled, replied: "If you believe it would help, then certain-"

"I am eighteen," Harry pointed out, surprising Alex, who would have guessed him a year or two younger, "and until you've diagnosed me with something that makes me unable to decide for myself, I will be a part of this conversation."

The Doctor smiled. "Harry, would you agree to a joint session with another of my clients?"

Seeing as how he truly was given no choice – being legally adult apparently didn't make Harry the Cub independent – the boy shrugged, continuing his façade of equanimity. "Whatever."

Alex's mind, trained to analyse people, classified him as a ticking bomb of PTSD. And he had just agreed to a joint session. _Fun_. About as much fun as randomly picking which wire leading to the detonator to cut while shackled to a chest with a brick of P4 inside – and yes, he _had_ done that.

Alex suspected that he would need therapy just to get over his therapy sessions.


	2. Cubs in Therapy

A/N: Thanks for your response. I should have probably pointed out that this story's already finished – has been since almost two years ago – and it will be appearing online in more or less regular intervals. So, no worries about a _Visionary_-like year-long hiatus. There's five chapters plus Epilogue.

Enjoy.

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Chapter Two: Cubs in Therapy

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With great trepidation, Alex knocked on Dr Anne Willowcrook's door and walked in. He was late, but he had woken up scarce two hours ago and if Jack hadn't asked him when he expected he would be home, he would have forgotten that he was supposed to be here an hour earlier than usually.

Outsider witness, indeed. With the three pairs of eyes glued to him the instance he appeared in the doorway, he felt like he was the one to be interrogated. Willowcrook quickly closed a folder she had been studying, put it into a drawer in her desk and locked it. Usually she would have left the key dangling there, but this time she put it into the inner pocket of her jacket. An excessive measure, but she did know Alex and how far his curiosity could drive him, too well.

"Hello, Doc," Alex said, and shrugged off his windbreaker. It was too hot, except that he did have a bad feeling about today, and the only thing that could assuage his bad feelings was an ace in his sleeve. So he was forced to stew in a windbreaker to assure that he did have the sleeve to keep said ace in.

"Hello, Alex! Grab a seat and we can start – we have been waiting for you." It was shade too tolerant to be a rebuke, measured perfectly to convey the Doctor's feelings in a way that didn't compromise her professional integrity or something.

Alex hung his windbreaker by the door but remained standing – the sofa was wide enough for three normal-sized men; however, he would have to sit in between Lupin and his charge (who was practically hugging the armrest in an effort to get as far away from the man as the setting allowed him), and that was a no. Fortunately, Lupin got a clue for once and stood – he made an attempt to touch Harry, who swiftly dodged the hand, and shook his head in exasperation.

"I'll be at Andromeda's," he said to boy, and turned away. "Thank you for your patience, Doctor. Good luck, Alex."

Harry the Cub shifted so that he wouldn't meet his guardian's eyes, even coincidentally, and the most interesting object in the office turned out to be not the potted abaca, not the artfully arranged books on the shelves behind Willowcrook, nor Willowcrook herself, but, predictably, Alex. Harry watched him appraisingly, far from eager to introduce himself, with the distinct vibe of someone who was present under duress.

"Hi," Alex said sitting down on Lupin's abandoned spot. His tone carried the wary disinterest that he imagined Harry felt.

Harry nodded.

The doctor's smile was tight around the lipstick-pinked edges. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on her knuckles as Alex had seen her do uncountable times before. It was one of her rituals for calming down, similar to how counting to ten was for other people. Her bare foot (she had a tendency to toe off her heels whenever seated at her desk) tapped against the carpet and her eyes measured the distance between her two 'clients.'

"Let us start," she said with surprising vim. "Alex, meet Harry. This is his fourth session today, and hopefully we will see some progress."

'…for a change' Alex mentally added.

"Harry, meet Alex. He has been coming to therapy for more than a year, and while our start was also somewhat rocky, we have achieved some great successes along the way."

"Which is why he _still_ needs therapy," Harry said.

Willowcrook closed her eyes for a moment and did very good at not rising to the challenge. If her last three meetings with the boy had gone like this, Alex could totally understand her frustration.

Alex decided to be helpful, and remarked: "I've got a lot of issues."

Harry raised his eyebrows at him. "So do I, but I'd rather work through them than pay a stranger to listen to me whinging."

Alex failed to stop a chuckle from escaping. While Harry was in some ways a quintessential teenager, he apparently did have a sarcastic sense of humour.

"Gentlemen," the Doctor spoke up before the conversation degenerated, "I realise that many of your problems are private and you might not feel comfortable talking about them in front of each other, but I believe it would be helpful if you could share some of your experiences-"

"Does he know?" Harry asked curtly.

Willowcrook seemed to understand the cryptic question. She shook her head, dislodging a few locks of hair. "No, unfortunately Alex does not have the necessary clearance."

That was quite a surprise, and Alex looked at his fellow patient (even though it was a politically incorrect label) with new interest. Since Anne Willowcrook did have the highest possible clearance someone in her profession could attain, she was well aware of Alex' job and many of the classified data that were missing from his file. She knew that he had access to many state secrets, thus her firm negative response rang warning bells.

"I am sure, however," she continued, "that we can get away with being a little vague. After all, Alex has also signed several Official Secrets Acts, if I'm not mistaken."

Alex tensed and surreptitiously checked that Smithers' gum was still in his pocket. Not only was Harry the Cub affiliated with the government, but he was now aware of Alex' similar affiliation. The boy wasn't MI6, of that Alex was reasonably certain, but he was becoming more mysterious by the minute.

"Sure. Whatever," the mystery man said, shrugging. At least he had released the armrest and was now seated normally, although he still seemed ready to spring from the sofa at a moment's notice.

"Marvellous," Willowcrook replied, not entirely masking the irony. "Harry, I would like you to tell us about what happened in May and how you feel about it, and then we will hear Alex' opinion, alright?"

The question was directed only at Harry, and if Alex was less mature or less sympathetic, he might have protested about being excluded from the decision-making. Luckily for the Doctor, he wasn't.

Harry rubbed his forehead and re-adjusted his glasses, contemplating. Eventually his shoulders sagged in resignation and he said: "I died. How do you think it makes me feel?"

Alex snorted. He fielded a glare from the (older?) boy and returned: "I died twice. Or so they told me."

"What?" Harry stared at him as though he had spontaneously grown another limb.

Dying wasn't that rare a thing. It happened often enough for there to be a handful of urban myths about it.

"Got… injured," Alex offered. "I died twice on the operating table."

Harry continued gaping at him for a few seconds and then burst into an uproarious, mirthful belly-laughter. It completely transformed him from the angsting teenager into a troubled young adult. "And I thought I was unique!" he exclaimed between chuckles. "That puts a new spin on defeating death!" Eventually his hilarity subsided and he was left with a little twisted smile, and even that faded away as he spoke: "It's not the same, though."

"How?" Alex inquired. As a matter of fact, he didn't remember anything about lights at the end of the tunnel (that was overshadowed by his experience of trying to out-gallop a real train in a very tangible tunnel), so he couldn't say he had experienced dying. He didn't even remember much from the time since he had been shot until he had lost consciousness – just a mixture of pain, fear and shock. It might have been cold, too, or that was just an impression of the memory… he didn't know.

Then Harry said: "I went in knowing I would die. I died _willingly_," and Alex came to the conclusion that they were comparing incomparable incidents.

"Do you wish to die, Harry?" Dr Willowcrook asked, tapping her lower lip with the rubber-end of a pencil. She seemed far better composed than she had been two minutes ago.

"As in 'are you suicidal'?" Harry paraphrased. "No. But when it was my life for _his_ death, I thought it was worth it."

Alex shuddered. He might have been lucky in that he had never had the time to think through that kind of a decision. He got into a dead-end situation every once in a while, and the fact that he was still alive was nothing short of a miracle, but when it came to his bravery, he preferred to have an adrenaline high to decide for him.

"I understand," Alex said absently.

"No, you don't. You really don't." Harry told him, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Nobody does." There was the sullen teenager resurfacing again.

"On the contrary, Harry," Willowcrook objected. "I believe that Alex here could understand you better than anyone." With a glance from one to the other and back, she ignored the protocol and started pointing out their similarities: "You both tragically lost your parents at a very young age."

Alex sneered a little. Calling a premeditated murder – committed by his godfather, his father's best friend, and paid for by a criminal organisation that felt betrayed – _tragic_ was more than 'a little vague.' Harry seemed to agree with the sentiment. Alex could just imagine a terrorist organisation sending a hired killer after _his_ parents, too.

Willowcrook went on, undeterred by their expressions: "You both lived with your parent's sibling during your childhood, which in neither case could be called ideal."

Alex finally managed to blank his face. Mentioning Ian always got him into a quiet mood. He had never managed to decide if he would continue on cherishing the memory of his uncle, or if he would start resenting him post mortem, and eventually just concluded that it would be safest for him to simply not feel anything. He let the memories pass him like they didn't matter.

Harry's sneer remained; his hands were clenched into fists.

"You both have been ruthlessly exploited by the government."

Alex said nothing. That wasn't an accusation he could admit to.

Harry leant forwards and met Willowcrook's eyes. "I was a kid," he hissed. "They were adults. They created problems and expected me to solve them. Yeah, I was exploited. And what are you going to do about it, Doctor? Do you think _talking about it_ will _make it all better_? Will you kiss my owies?"

Alex was – stunned. Then he chuckled, because the combination of surprise and harsh sarcasm made hilarity well inside of him and bubble to the surface.

Harry turned to him. Resentful eyes pinned Alex to the sofa, and he really wanted to stop laughing, even while his shoulders shook. He was making an enemy he didn't want or need, however, so he forced himself to calm down and take several deep breaths. It could always be explained away as hysteria.

Willowcrook replied seriously: "I want to help you come to terms with your anger to the point when you will not redirect it at those who are not at fault, Harry."

"The entire society is at fault, Doctor," Harry retorted. "They all knew what was expected of me, and they all though it was _a splendid idea_. Someone decided before I was born that I had to kill a madman, and since I was a year old they did everything to make it happen."

Alex could see that Doctor Willowcrook's idea was already working. It was hard to believe, but the mere presence of a fellow sufferer made Harry the Cub open up and actually start talking about his feelings, even if he phrased it as accusations.

"Taking it out on the madman didn't work?" Alex inquired. He usually felt better after he had thrown some villain off a cliff. Never mind that he mostly ended up black and blue or burnt or bleeding, and had to be hospitalised… Sometimes violence was the most effective solution, and often it made him feel better. He could recommend it.

"I didn't do anything," Harry said. "I stood there and let him kill me." He hid his face in his forearms, presumably either trying to stave off tears, or hiding them.

"Why?" Willowcrook asked feebly.

Alex began to suspect that she was personally entangled in Harry's story; otherwise even the particulars shouldn't have made her lose her cool (she barely batted an eye at most of Alex' particulars).

Harry straightened. He was pale, and for the second time in their acquaintance Alex felt like he was looking into a skewed mirror. "'cause there was no other way. Dumbledore trained me to sacrifice myself. He left instructions."

"And you obeyed?" Alex could truthfully say that if his orders ever went '…and you'll let him kill you' he would tell Blunt and Mrs Jones to go fuck themselves.

"I said you wouldn't understand," Harry said simply.

He was right. Alex didn't understand. But he grasped fairly well that as messed-up as Harry was, the people who had been responsible for him had been far worse.

"Why don't you try and explain, Harry?" Willowcrook prompted.

"Yeah, explain why I stood there and let him kill me while remaining sufficiently 'vague.' Hmm… Well, I had to die before him, because if I hadn't, then he would have come back to life. Sounds _vague_ enough?" He sneered at the Doctor, who sighed and re-laced her fingers.

Alex tried to make sense of the metaphor, but nothing occurred to him. Apparently, the circumstances had been so specific that without Harry going into details nothing would make sense to anyone excluded… which supported his hypothesis that Willowcrook was involved in the story.

"Let us just say that it was necessary and there was no other way," the Doctor said.

"Because that makes much sense," Alex muttered.

Harry heard him, but apart from a choked-on snort he didn't react.

"So," Harry said mockingly, "I died and came back to life, and now people think I am Jesus' younger brother and treat me like that. I get five marriage proposals a day, can't get through a committee or board meeting without someone passing me a near-pornographic note and I'm becoming an expert at dodging reporters and paparazzi. And I _feel_ that everyone's gone crazy, and I'm really the last person on this bloody planet that needs a shrink."

Alex' investigative mind, once woken, refused to sink back into complacency. Harry apparently had a lot of publicity, and had to be a _big_ celebrity to garner such interest from women because, objectively, his looks were fairly average and so far he had not exhibited any special charm. He spoke of a whole society that would recognise him, while Alex, whose _job_ was intelligence gathering (and counterintelligence, but that was neither here nor there) had never even heard about him. It stunk. Badly.

"I imagine that such attention must be uncomfortable, but do you actually hate women?" Doctor Willowcrook asked.

Alex didn't immediately spot the relevance of her question, but she did have several degrees, while he was crossing his fingers to get through A-levels.

"No." Harry waved his hand, indeliberately brushing one of the abaca's leaves. "I hate _Bellatrix_. And I firmly believe that my feelings in this matter are justified."

"Why did you refuse to reestablish you relationship, then?" the Doctor jumped at a new line of questioning that Harry had left himself open for. "You said that you did love-"

"Yeah. I do. But Ginny thinks that I am the hero who saved the world, and therefore obligated to marry her, build her a house and a picket fence, buy her a dog and have half a dozen kids with her. At least. I'm eighteen, Doctor, and the furthest I've been from London is Northern Scotland. Yes, I've had my share of excitement, but for once I'd like to do something that doesn't involve torturing and killing people."

"Excellent, Harry!" Willowcrook praised the rant.

Alex was feeling truly out of his depth here. He had lost all his preconceptions and now found that he had no facts on which he could base his estimation of Harry. He tried to piece the puzzle together – an eighteen-year-old boy, antagonistic towards current guardian, hateful of society but personally at the very least civil to strangers, prone to fits of temper, survivor of a near-lethal injury, conditioned to die on order since early childhood… It didn't fit together. Either the boy was schizophrenic and had some heavy hallucinations, or all the pieces belonged to a much bigger puzzle, and Alex had yet to find an edge.

Since the Doctor acted as if it all made sense, he suspected the latter was closer to the truth.

"So you would like to travel?" Willowcrook asked, making a brief note into a spiral notebook in front of her. "Is there any country that specifically interests you?"

Harry, startled by the sudden change of topic, floundered. "I was thinking Australia? My friend's parents went there last year and they seemed to like it."

"I've been to Australia," Alex offered. He had been there more than once, but his first visit (if falling from the orbit into their piece of ocean could be called visiting) was by far the most memorable.

"What is it like?" Harry asked, simply civil rather than genuinely curious.

"Crappy," Alex said candidly. "The people are either perpetually happy despite daily mortal danger, or gleefully dispensing said mortal danger."

"I've heard there were lots of sheep," Harry deadpanned.

"Never saw any," Alex refuted. "There was a minefield, though. Yeah, and my godfather. I found out he murdered my parents."

Harry choked. He coughed a few times into his fist, eyes wide behind his glasses, and then turned to Alex. "Mine didn't. Murder my parents, I mean. The government said he did, though, and they put him in prison without a trial. He escaped after twelve years, but it messed him up. He died a while ago."

Alex, giving in to utter confusion, replied: "Mine died too. One of my… acquaintances shot him. Good riddance."

The good Doctor Willowcrook decided that she had let them have their morbid session long enough and took control again. "Is your desire to travel spurred by your wish to avoid your popularity?"

Harry's mood promptly plummeted. Alex had the niggling feeling that this was one of the rare cases when the client was right, and the psychotherapy really wasn't helping him. Alex was far better off than he had been before he had started visiting Willowcrook, but she seemed to make Harry hate her more every time she spoke up.

"Does everything in my life have to be about my fame?" Harry asked. "You know what? I've had enough for one day, and so did your 'outsider witness,' apparently. He's ready to start drooling onto his tie. So let's break this up." He stood and went for the exit.

Alex _was_ confused, but not as much as to lose control of his bodily functions, so his tie (a birthday present from Sabina) was safe from harm. He still accepted the jibe in the spirit in which it was presented.

The Doctor was not as ready to free the boy from her clutches. She rose as well, dislodging the notebook and the pencil, which clattered on the floor past the edge of the carpet and rolled all the way to Alex' right shoe (Alex picked it up and pocketed it while her attention was diverted elsewhere). "Harry-"

"Bye, Doctor." Harry glanced over his shoulder. "Bye, Alex."

"Bye, Harry," Alex replied. He estimated his distance from the fallen notebook and came to the conclusion that it was too far for him to sneak it unnoticed. Willowcrook picked it up before the door shut behind Harry, and extended her hand to Alex in a mute request for the return of her writing implement.

She _did_ know him too well.

"Leastways I won't be the first person that boy has made go grey," she said, sinking back into her seat and scribbling into the notebook.

"This was a waste of time," Alex said. He didn't really mind, except that he didn't take it well when information was being kept from him. "His story doesn't make any sense. It will keep me up all night. Can you give me a hint?"

Alex made it sound casual, but the Doctor took one glance at him and gave him a skeptical look. She shook her head. "Harry has been living in a completely isolated community with some rather archaic practices. Their people mostly are not on records."

"Remus Lupin is," Alex pointed out, mentally weighing how much trouble he could get in if he was caught breaking into the clinic in the middle of the night and perusing a certain file. Too much, probably, and then Mrs Jones would want to know why he did it. And even if he wasn't caught, if Harry's file suddenly disappeared, Willowcrook would know exactly who had taken it.

"Trust you to check," Willowcrook said, shaking her head. "He was probably born outside of the community and only joined it later."

"How do _you_ know about that 'community'?" Alex inquired. It sounded awfully like Mafia, except it had already been described as having its own media and that was something criminals would have wanted to avoid. Still, conditioning a baby to die on order sounded criminal to him.

"Several of my relatives are a part of it," Willowcrook replied vaguely. "I cannot tell you more – they are protected by the crown, and there are consequences for betraying them."

"I see," Alex muttered. He didn't, but he would.

The doctor read his mind and scowled. "Don't do anything stupid, Alex. This is not worth getting mixed up with."

Alex had never been good at listening to warnings. Mostly it saved his life as well. "I'll be careful-"

"That won't help you this time," Willowcrook's voice became sharper, as did her eyes. Her lips tightened, forming a stern expression which Alex had only rarely glimpsed before. "I mean it, Alex, I know very well what you are capable of, and I am telling you that this is out of your league."

Alex blinked a few times, and then shrugged. "Sure, Doctor. I'll be a good little MI6 agent."

He could tell she didn't believe him, but she said nothing more on the topic, only ripped out the page from her notebook and put it into the inner pocket of her jacket with the key.

"What do you think of Harry, then?" she asked.

Alex decided to be honest. "I don't think you're helping him. He's a poster boy for PTSD, sure, but…" He shrugged.

"I was hoping you could help me help him. He spoke more today in ten minutes than in the three past sessions together."

Alex' left hand tapped a tattoo on the leather of the armrest, and he tilted his head to the side. Helping a shrink interrogate her patient? He had accepted it on experimental basis, but he had naively thought that it might help him, as well. And while there were startling similarities in Harry's and his history, their outlooks and characters were fundamentally different.

"I don't think I'd like to listen to anyone's whinging, especially not if I'm not paid for it," he said frankly.

"Alex?"

"That was a no, Doctor," he replied and stood. "I realise there's more than half an hour left, but I'm too tired and too annoyed to continue today. Sorry. I'll see you next week."

x

Sweating and cursing the day in five languages, Alex walked out of the clinic's shadow onto the sunlit footpath. He crossed the car park, and just outside the outer gates almost walked into Harry simply standing there and staring at the traffic.

"I would have thought you'd be in a hurry to get away from this place," Alex spoke.

Harry gave him a sideways glance and shrugged. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his neck, even though he was only wearing a shirt.

Alex thought he might boil in the windbreaker by the time he got home.

"Get away from this place – sure," Harry agreed. "Get to where I'm going next? Nuh-uh."

"Eloquent," Alex praised him.

Harry waved goodbye and walked away. Two houses later he turned into a side-alley.

Alex thought about the warning Willowcrook gave him and decided to do more preliminary research before he jumped head-first into trouble, so he did not follow.


	3. Cubs on the Prowl

Chapter Three: Cubs on the Prowl

x

A week after the disastrous joint session, Alex was late again, this time for his very own appointment. He had a hope that he would avoid being interrogated by Lupin (now that he and Harry had actually met and spoken, however twisted that conversation had been, he would be likely more pushy than ever before), but he was developing a habit here that was liable to become the cause of someone's death in the future.

He was very nearly barreled over when Harry (whose surname he was still vainly attempting to discover) fell out of the clinic entrance and stumbled on the treacherous step in front of it. Alex instinctively twisted to the side to avoid getting crashed into, and then managed to catch Harry before he planted his face into the concrete.

"You run like you've got a raging bull on your heels," Alex remarked once Harry regained his balance.

"A curious metaphor," Harry noted. "It's more of an insulted Hippogriff at the moment, while we're on curious metaphors. I don't think _that woman_ liked what I told her."

Alex filed interest in mythology for later pondering (it went together with 'archaic practices,' perhaps) and examined the boy. He was flushed – not with the heat today, when the rain was about to fall any minute, but probably with anger. He did seem supremely out of sorts.

"I was under the impression that she would accept just about anything, as long as you _did_ talk."

Harry squirmed, edging further from Alex. "I might have insinuated that she should shrink her own head and score a government-paid vacation in an institute for people not quite capable of taking care of themselves… not precisely in those words."

Alex took a moment to translate it. As far as cussing went, that didn't amount to a very creative insult. "I'd have thought she was used to hearing it," he mused. A glance at his watch told him he was three minutes late already.

"I thought so, too," Harry agreed. "So I added, just in case, that I would rather have intimate relations with a male member of a non-human humanoid race than attend another session with her. I also might have slammed her door rather forcefully."

The corners of Alex' mouth twitched upward. After how frustrated Willowcrook had been last week, he could just imagine her hitting the roof in private. Maybe he was lucky to be late, just this once.

"Does this therapy thing actually help anyone?" Harry asked, frowning.

Alex contemplated for a moment and then nodded. "Yes, it really does." Responding to a quizzical glance, he elaborated: "I don't attempt to kill people who run into me anymore."

Harry stared at him for a while. Whatever conclusion he came to, he accepted the claim. "Good on you. I spent almost an hour there today, and I feel totally wrung. Experience tells me I'm going to have nightmares like you wouldn't believe tonight, courtesy of talking about things I like to keep buried deep inside my head. I need a drink."

"You drink?" Alex asked, surprised. He had drunk a glass of champagne here and there, of course, but he left vodka martinis to James Bond and steered clear of the demon of alcohol. Still, he had not a clue how a community that didn't show up on the records viewed underage drinking. Maybe Harry was used to a night-cap.

"Only if I can get away to do so. If I got smashed where someone could see me, I'd either get the scolding of my life or appear the next day on the front pages. So… rarely."

"So, where are you going?" Not a very subtle query, Alex had to admit, but at least it was better than 'who the heck are you and what sort of insane criminals do you live with?'

Harry gave him a look. "So you can tell Willowcrook and she can set Remus after me? Or worse, the Daily Prophet? I don't really trust her to keep her bloody mouth shut, the harridan."

Alex skipped on defending Willowcrook, who wasn't anywhere as bad as Harry portrayed her, and went straight for the newly generated information: "Daily Prophet?"

"The most annoying newspaper ever. And don't try to dodge the question."

Sharp kid. Alex smiled. "Not my business. If you get sloshed, don't pick up any older red-haired women." Not that Jack would be interested in a teenager, but she tended to give her common sense a vacation after the second glass. The reason she rarely got taken advantage of was because she had an awesome instinct for picking company… and moxie. Alex had had to phone Crawley once to help him bail Jack out after she had broken the nose of a mountain-sized guy, who had promptly broken down crying.

"You want to come with me?" Harry asked suddenly.

Alex laughed. "I'm seven minutes late for my weekly head-shrinking. The Doc's going to yell at me till she's blue in the face."

"Exactly." Harry grinned. "Why not save yourself the unpleasantness? I'll treat you. You seem like you're good company if you're not conspiring against me with the shrink from Hell."

Alex faced a decision: should he go upstairs like a good little MI6 agent he had promised to be, or should he get closer to this mysterious boy and break a few laws in the process? Well, it was not a hard decision.

x

"You said you can't be seen drinking," Alex remarked as they entered the underground room of an establishment. At a glance it looked clean and not too loud; two slot machines stood abandoned in the corner, and the music coming from the speakers was some kind of pointless instrumental sound.

The bar was occupied by what seemed to be regular clientele, consisting of men and women in almost equal ratio, and there was a free table in the corner so that both he and Harry could sit with their back to the wall and the exit within their sight (which, Alex guessed, was important).

"The trick is not to be recognised," Harry replied, winding his way between the tables. "No one here would recognise me."

"The Doc mentioned you were from an insulated community," Alex said, and followed the example in sitting down at the corner table he had noticed earlier. He picked up the menu and leafed to the back for alcoholic beverages. If asked, Harry could always flash an ID… if he even had an ID. There might pose a problem.

"She did?" Harry hummed. "Insulated community… Yes, I suppose. The idiots still use candles for light. But I grew up in normal world until I was eleven, so you don't have to talk to me like I'm retarded."

That illustrated 'archaic practices' for Alex. He imagined the Amish Paradise, as seen in a music video by Al Yankovich, and promptly discarded the fantasy.

"Why would you move to that community?"

"It's not like I had a choice," Harry implored him to stop being an idiot. "I had to get killed by their madman for them."

"Why didn't you run away and hide?"

"At eleven?" Harry maintained his 'don't be an idiot' tone. "'cause I didn't have an adult I could depend on. Besides, I make them sound mentally deficient, but some of the higher-ups are smart and well-connected. They would have found me anywhere."

Alex did have his doubts, but combined with Willowcrook's warning he was beginning to see an outline of what was going on, and it was sinister. He didn't argue with Harry, and instead smiled at the waitress that approached them.

"Have you had lunch?" Harry asked.

"No – I got up at noon and ate my cold breakfast."

Harry chuckled and turned to the young woman (Alex assessed her as twenty-five, slightly underweight, artificially blonde and content with her job), gesturing to her with his left hand. "I'd like a gin and tonic, and bangers and mash. You, Alex?"

Alex grimaced at Harry's absolute lack of taste, and quickly skimmed the menu. "Err… red wine, whatever you have on hand. And… you have cottage pie?"

The waitress nodded, taking notes. "I'll be right back with your drinks. The rest will take a while."

Harry hid himself behind the open menu, apparently having exhausted his capacity for civility, so Alex answered for both of them: "Thank you; we've got time."

They lapsed into silence. Alex practically went cross-eyed, trying to watch Harry at the same time as he observed the rest of the customers. Ultimately, Harry proved to be much more interesting, because while there were individuals who could turn out to be a threat under specific conditions, there was not a hint of acute danger within sight.

Harry, on the other hand, was fully concentrating on the people. He seemed to be looking for something different than Alex though (which was understandable) and let his eyes rest mostly on those people Alex had dismissed out of hand: a petit light-haired young man by the bar, a woman in an outlandish dress, an elderly gentleman with a pipe.

"No one you recognise?" Alex asked.

Harry shook his head, finally setting the menu down onto the tabletop. "No. But that means little. I know only a fraction of the people who know me. Or at least who think they know me."

"Would you be able to distinguish the people of your 'community'?"

"Not with any measure of certainty. About a third of them can, like me, blend in. The other two thirds rarely wander outside. When they do, they get strange looks, but a lot of people get strange looks. There are so many cultures mixed in London that you wouldn't notice someone who doesn't belong."

"Are they armed?" Alex asked.

Harry was accustomed to carrying a weapon, but he might have been exception rather than the rule, what with the role his people had cast him into.

Crushing Alex' hopes, Harry solemnly nodded. "We are an armed society. Different weapons than you're used to, as well, but I can't tell you more because of the laws."

By this time their alcohol had arrived, and Alex helped himself. The wine was perfectly palatable. He had a moment of trepidation, but the waitress had deemed them adult on sight. Even though Harry had the glasses and the empty expression, and Alex was built, that was a bit strange. Maybe she was more interested in the profit than in the laws; plus, they didn't look like the kind that got sloshed and raised hell.

By the way yet notably, Harry was clever enough to figure out that Alex was used to _some_ kind of weapon.

Harry set down the half-empty glass of clear liquid and tilted his head. "So tell me, Alex, why shouldn't I pick up elder red-haired women? I'm quite partial to red hair."

Alex grinned and selected a Jack-related anecdote to tell.

x

Fed and bolstered by two glasses of gin and tonic, Harry had expressed a desire to do the 'touristy thing' and Alex, hoping to weasel out more from the tipsy teenager, invited himself along. Harry didn't mind, so they braved the tube and went to check out Westminster and Big Ben and Tower and… eventually a supermarket, where Harry – with some input from Alex – obtained a bottle of wine.

"I don't like drinking alone, I think," Harry mused, once the horizon began to change from grey to dark grey. He re-read the etiquette and packed the wine-bottle into the plastic bag together with a box of cheap chocolates.

"Get a drinking buddy," Alex suggested. He checked his phone – only three missed calls, and all from Willowcrook. Jack was finally trusting him to take care of himself. She would have expected him to be home by eleven, though, which meant he still had about an hour and half. No hurry.

"Are you free?" Harry asked.

Alex, startled, didn't reply.

Harry sank onto a nearby bench, set the plastic bag next to his hip, and craned his head to look at the overcast sky. The day was humid, but it had yet to actually rain, and it was warm enough for short sleeves even after sundown.

Alex pocketed his phone and sat down, too. "I have no pressing engagement," he replied. "Still, I wouldn't have expected you to latch onto me like this."

Harry chuckled, with a mirthlessness that was intimately familiar to Alex. "I feel comfortable with you," Harry confided. "There are no expectations, no preconceived notions, no need to pretend that I'm fine, or not fine, or not angry or… whatever. Just a chance to relax, while not being completely alone. Haven't had one since… I can't remember. Maybe never had one."

Alex chuckled. "I can see why psychotherapy didn't help you. It just added more stress."

"Right in one," Harry replied. "Plus, Willowcrook refused to give me an oath of silence – a cultural thing," he added swiftly, "and I can't trust her. No way I'm giving access to my mind to a stranger that won't swear an oath."

Alex could sort-of understand that. He had had his reservations, but Willowcrook had passed the strictest checks, and if she was reliable in the eyes of MI6, then he was free to talk to her. If she went to media about Alex, MI6 would have erased her from existence. If she went to media about Harry… Alex could understand the paranoia.

"Remus Lupin shows up on records," Alex said, out of blue.

Harry didn't look at him, still staring at the sky as if he could see the stars through the heavy clouds. "Does he? Well, I think he's a halfblood – half normal, half…you know."

Alex didn't know, and that was the point.

"I tried to check on you," he continued. "I couldn't identify you."

"You don't even know my surname," Harry said with a laugh. "Or do you?"

"I don't," Alex admitted.

"That would make the search difficult. Are you still being exploited by the government?" Harry returned, once again showing that he was quite clever and picked up a clue when it was offered.

"No. They pay me now."

Harry laughed. "When I was younger, I wanted to go into law enforcement. Conditioning, I suppose."

"You don't anymore?" Alex inquired. Conditioning didn't disappear just like that.

"I do. But I don't. I know it doesn't make sense."

It did to Alex, much more so than a lot of other things about Harry.

"I'm hoping I'll get interested in something different, but so far I haven't found anything."

"I wanted to be a football player when I was younger," Alex admitted.

"I think every boy goes through a phase when he wants to be a sports player." Harry didn't specify which sport, but it didn't matter. The 'community' wouldn't have let him go before he got killed, and there was no reasonable possibility for someone to survive death.

"It must have been a shock to find out you've survived," Alex said, led astray by his thoughts.

Harry sighed. "I learnt I had to die just before I've gone to meet _him_. I didn't have the time to get used to the idea. I survived, and that was it."

"But it changed you," Alex pointed out.

"I'm not sure. I think dying was less horrible than the walk, and the walk was far less horrible than the realisation that my whole life was a set-up leading to that moment." His voice was weary, with a hint of wetness to it.

Alex realised that he was, apparently, helping in Willowcrook's proclaimed goal despite having refused to. He banished the thought and firmly decided to be a sympathetic fellow human being to Harry, who had been dealt a bad hand and appreciated the sympathy.

"No wonder you want to get drunk once in a while," Alex said.

"You offering your company?" Harry repeated his earlier question.

Alex considered the possibility of walking into a trap and deemed it as good as zero. He recovered his cell phone and typed a text message to Jack. She was used to him staying out, even though it was mostly for work, and he reassured her that tonight's business had nothing to do with the Bank.

"I'm offering to help with the bottle," Alex said after hitting 'send,' and gestured to the plastic bag. "Unless you live an unreasonably long way from here, in which case I'm going home to crash."

Harry gave him a surprised smile. It made him look younger, maybe sixteen, like an errant schoolboy up to mischief. "I've got a house at Grimmauld Place. Number Twelve. It's not nice, and more than a little desolate, but it's habitable and not too far from here. I actually inherited it from my killed godfather."

Alex stood and offered his hand to pull Harry to his feet. His aid was graciously accepted.

"Lead the way, then, my host," Alex prompted.

Harry rolled his eyes, but confidently set out in the direction where, according to the signs, was the nearest tube station.


	4. Cubs vs Moony

A/N: Thanks for your encouraging response! Hope you continue to enjoy this story. As requested, some adventure is coming up.

Brynn

x

Chapter Four: Cubs vs. Moony

x

"…and she said that now that the war was over, we could get back together," Harry finished his long-winded, wine-addled explanations on why girls made no sense whatsoever.

"You told the Doc you loved her, though," Alex pointed out. It wasn't that hard to imagine the situation – Sabina did carry quite a torch for him still – but at least he wasn't in love with her. She was a good friend, but not a potential lover. Bonus points, she didn't have an older brother to smash in Alex' face for breaking his little sister's heart.

"I do!" Harry exclaimed, unnecessarily loudly. "I love Ginny. I really do."

"Sounds like you're trying to convince yourself." Alex considered himself lucky that he wasn't a part of a society that expected eighteen-year-olds to get hitched as soon as they finished school and start producing sprogs nine months later. The idea of marriage scared him – like it scared all of his peers, Harry included.

"Ron and Hermione are already engaged," Harry said instead of confirming or denying Alex' suspicion, which was as good as a confirmation anyway. "Ron's mum keeps hinting that she wants me to ask Ginny but…"

"You don't want to."

"Not yet," Harry amended. "It's too soon. Way too soon. I want to finish the school and see the world and not become an Auror-"

"Auror?" Alex tasted the unfamiliar word.

"Law enforcement officer. Works differently than the police. Everything's so different."

Alex would say so. He had experienced sharp relief when he discovered that the bathroom actually did have running water, contrary to what the dilapidated interior of the house promised.

Alex judged the amount of wine in the bottle. If Harry was an inexperienced drinker – which all signs pointed to – then he was quite out of it by now. Not incoherent, obviously, but he would be unsteady on his feet if he attempted to stand up, and he was most likely in the state when suggestion worked well on him.

"We should probably go to bed," Alex said, searching for a clock. There was none, so he glanced at his watch – it had stopped at ten. He was fairly certain it was well past midnight, so it must have stopped. "You've got the time?"

Harry lifted his left hand. Then his eyes widened – he probably realised he wasn't wearing his watch – and he let his arm down into his lap. "No, sorry. What time do you need to get up?"

Alex shrugged. "Whatever I feel like. You got any pressing engagements?"

"Nothing I'd have to wake you up for," Harry replied and, painfully, lifted himself upright. "I'll show you to the guest room. It's – habitable."

Not a glowing praise, but Alex did not much care. He had slept in a jungle, in snow, on a plane full of terrorists and hostages… well, pretty much anywhere except underwater… no, even underwater. Harry made it sound like there was a room and a bed and at least an illusion of privacy, which in combination Alex considered to be luxury.

"Lupin won't be worried about you?" Alex asked as they ascended a red-carpeted staircase. There was something that looked like shrunk heads (he honestly intended no pun) mounted to the wall, and it was disgusting even from afar, so Alex concentrated on not looking that way. Hour by hour, he found the 'community' to be more and more repulsive.

"It's Full Moon today," Harry replied as if that explained everything. Then he realised that Alex was 'normal' and flushed. "I mean, he'd be otherwise occupied."

Alex could have pictured Lupin dancing naked around a bonfire, but in the interest of his sanity he refrained.

"Here we are," Harry announced on the second floor. He opened a door that was identical to all the others, and let Alex have a look around. It was quite a poky room but surprisingly tidy, with a lighter spot on the wall where a picture used to hang (Alex recalled Dorian Gray, but he doubted that Harry was an old amoral monster of a man hiding behind such an average façade – he got a good laugh out of that) and a trio of lit candles on a candlestick, which was a cause for concern, since they were freshly lit (the tops were not yet completely melted) and Harry sure as hell hadn't been the one to light them.

"'s there anyone else in the house?" Alex asked, scowling at the little flames.

"Oh… uh… there's a servant. He sort of comes with the house, and retirement's like a curse-word to him so I… uh… let him work. He wants to."

Harry sure seemed ashamed to have a retainer; Alex, on the other hand, was nervous. There was someone creeping through the house, someone who knew that Alex was there and was going to stay the night, yet someone whom Alex had not had the chance to assess… It wasn't going to be a peaceful night, for sure.

Alex was doubly glad he had not drunk too much.

"I hope you'll be alright," Harry said after a pause. "Do you need anything? There's a fresh towel in the bathroom, and the bedside drawer should have a nightshirt in it – I know, but this house doesn't exactly carry spare pyjamas."

Alex had no qualms about sleeping in his trousers. His suits were MI6-supplied, after all.

"I'll be okay," he assured his nervous host. "I'm quite capable of surviving a few hours on my own."

Harry didn't look convinced, but fortunately he accepted Alex' claim. He imparted instructions on how to get to Harry's own bedroom (in case of an emergency), said a quick 'goodnight' and left.

Alex took off his shoes and stripped his shirt. He laid down into the bed and worked on putting together the multitude of clues and hints Harry had dropped during the drinking and story-telling. Alex had not indulged much, so his mind was quite clear, but it didn't seem to be helping him at all.

What he was certain of was that Harry's community consisted of people quite disturbed at best and criminally insane at worst, with cretins somewhere in the middle of the scale. Compared to them, Harry was, as he had professed earlier, quite well, and definitely not able to see himself as someone in need of psychotherapy.

Their kids were all concentrated in a boarding school that was a cross between a training camp and a prison, unless the student in question had an especially influential close relative, in which case they could do pretty much whatever they wanted. In this school teachers of dubious credentials taught the children how to use the weapons they carried on them wherever they went. Some tended to overstep their authority and assign their students detentions that bordered on torture…

Alex had often thought that high school was hell, but he had to admit, faced with the image he had constructed from Harry's 'vauged-down' reminiscences, he believed that he had been extremely lucky. Even Brooklands, which had chucked him out about two years ago, was a walk in a park.

Therefore Alex fully expected to stumble upon something extremely dangerous when he snuck out of his bedroom nearly an hour later. Harry would have been fast asleep, and so would the invisible servant at this inhuman time – Alex guessed it was about two a.m., but he couldn't be sure, since his watch was busted and he could see nothing through the heavy sheets of rain outside. He did make an attempt to check his phone, but it was off and refused to turn on no matter how hard he pressed the start button. His battery should have lasted at least two more days, but complaining didn't help at the moment, and Alex felt perfectly in his element slinking out of the creaky door and down the corridor, footsteps muffled by a moth-eaten carpet.

Candles were lit along the wall; notably, there were no puddles of melted wax beneath them. Since the house was absurdly large for London proper, Alex had to prioritise. He decided to by-pass the many bedrooms on the second and first floor. He gave a brief thought to the attic, but his experience guided him to the underground part of the house. Harry wasn't a bad guy, Alex firmly believed, but people tended to hide things low rather than high.

Sure enough, he found a padlocked door from behind which came growling and whining.

To Alex defence, he did pause and consider if breaking in was a good idea… for about half a minute. Then he tried to improvise a lock-pick, but his skills were rustier than he estimated, and his effort failed. Eventually, he stuffed a piece of Smithers' bubblegum in the keyhole and pressed his back to the wall, waiting for it to do its job. The metal hissed; a part of the hallway briefly lit up with the pale yellow flame and the padlock half-melted.

Alex waited for it to cool down before he ripped it off and finally caught a glimpse of Harry's siren secret.

It looked an awful lot like a pair of yellow eyes staring from the depths of darkness.

There was a brief silence of mutual surprise and then the beast growled so low that Alex could barely hear it. Two rows of sharp teeth glinted with reflected candlelight. Alex backed away and slammed the door shut. He moved to put the padlock back into place, but it fell apart into useless pieces of metal the instance he touched it. He pressed his shoulder against the two-inch thick layer of solid wood and focused on brainstorming.

Alright… his curiosity had gotten him into deep shit before. He survived. What now?

The creature inside the cellar hit the door at full run, and Alex didn't stand a chance. He fell and caught himself on his hands before he kissed the floor. He had no hopes of keeping the door shut – in physical strength he was woefully outmatched by the animal. Within seconds Alex was on his feet and running toward the stairs. The beast broke loose; its four paws hit the carpet and it slid sideways and bunched up.

"_Vinculo_!" Harry's voice shouted.

Gold light flashed, but Alex didn't look back because he was currently running for his life. He passed Harry, who was mysteriously present, standing on the bottom-most step, with a wooden stick gripped in his right hand and pointed into the obscurity behind Alex' back. The boy was completely transformed: in ridiculous red flannel pyjamas and sleep-mussed hair, he looked far more dangerous than he had looked ever before.

It probably had something to do with the ice-cold eyes half-hidden behind glinting glasses and the down-turn of the corners of his lips that would have made a lesser man regret all the sins he had committed over the course of his mortal life.

"Come on, Moony," Harry spoke in a low, mocking voice, putting himself bodily between Alex and the animal. "You don't want the muggle, do you? Don't I smell so much better? Come here…"

Before Alex could make a wisecrack about Harry's suicidal tendencies, the candles in the basement corridor flared up all at once, illuminating the most monstrous creature Alex had _ever_ seen. It was easily as tall as an average man's chest even while crouched on all four. Long, uneven fur was splattered with what he tentatively identified as blood, and it seemed like there were bites along its forelimbs – it must have been mauling itself, confined into the cellar.

Alex felt the predatory yellow eyes assessing him as prey.

"Forget him, Moony," Harry spoke up, drawing the creature's attention to himself, and stepped forwards. "Come taste _me_."

Then Harry took three more steps, and Alex finally noticed how pale the boy was, and how the hand with the stick he had stretched out in front of himself shook. There was guilt – he had put Harry into mortal danger – but there was also wonder and awe at just how stupidly courageous his new acquaintance was. Alex was fine with scaling the London Eye, but a fight one on one with the beast…

"_Impedimenta_!" Harry shouted at the same time as the animal sprang. A flash of light shot from Harry's stick to the beast, and then was reflected off its fur into the wall, where it cracked the paint.

It didn't _impede_ the creature's motion, and Harry would have had his head ripped off had he not fallen to the floor and rolled just beneath four sets of lethal-looking claws.

Alex gulped and his right hand subconsciously palpated around the small of his back. No luck, though. His gun was at home, locked in his uncle's desk drawer.

"Come, come, Moony," Harry mocked, regaining his feet.

The creature – Alex could now distinguish a wolf-like muzzle – skidded on the floor, turned and _howled_. The sound made blood freeze in veins and Alex was petrified on the spot like the greenest rookie ever.

"You want to taste me, don't you?" Harry made certain that the beast's focus never wavered.

It gave chase, and Harry led it straight back into its cell, narrowly avoiding several swipes with claws. A crack rent the air, and Harry was suddenly standing in the hallway again and aiming his stick at the door.

"_Reparo_! _Colloportus_!" Harry shouted. Amazingly – though Alex wouldn't have been shocked to find he had hallucinated the entire encounter – the broken pieces of the bar fit together, the padlock re-created itself and flew upwards to secure the door, and everything was decorated by pretty flashing lights.

Alex wasn't aware he had consumed any drugs (apart from the hardly significant amount of alcohol). His rational mind was twisting upon itself to avoid the word '_magic_.'

Harry, stiff from his bare toes to the top of his head, turned and faced Alex, who for once felt like he should be sinking to his knees and begging for an apology, and said: "I should have let you die. You would have deserved it." He walked past Alex and started up the stairs, staring forwards. "I only ever met one person who was stupid enough to break into a locked room with a changed werewolf inside. There is a measure of irony in the fact that they had been saved by my father."

"Werewolf," Alex repeated. His tunnel vision was slowly retreating. He had faced a shark, a bear, a pack of dogs and a tiger, but none of those had been half as… as vicious, as _bloodthirsty_, as dangerous as this creature.

"Yes." Harry gave Alex a look that was a step-up from the one he had at times given Dr Willowcrook. There was a potential friendship lost in that look. "I imagine you're one of those _muggles_ who think they've seen everything and know everything about the world. Well, newsflash, Alex. Your little playground is pretty walled-off."

"And _you_ know everything," Alex sniped back, going on autopilot like usually did during the critical parts of his missions.

"No," Harry refuted. "But I know my own turf. And now you're supposed to start laughing at me or proclaiming me insane… or demanding proof."

"I just almost got eaten by a werewolf!" Alex exclaimed, and shivered at the soul-searing howl that came from the depths of the house. "I'm trying to digest that. I should be ready to think by the morning."

"Oh, goody. Sarcasm," Harry said sarcastically.

Alex snorted. "You know it."

Harry sighed and shook his head, pausing on a landing. "Seriously, go back to your room and _stay in there_. I'm not getting up again tonight to save your hide, and if I find you dead in the morning, it's no skin off my back." He yawned, stuck his stick into a contraption fastened to his forearm, and walked off further up the stairs.


	5. Cubs Parting

A/N: I've noticed that a few of my reviewers thought Harry was being unnecessarily harsh with Alex, or Alex was too scared of Harry. I maintain that Harry himself was scared and therefore bitchy, and that Alex had just been confronted with magic for the first time ever, and if that made him panic a little – it was a perfectly natural reaction, even from him. You will probably be just as unhappy with this chapter, but the only thing I can tell you is: Stay tuned for the epilogue!

Brynn

x

Chapter Five: Cubs Parting

x

On Sunday, the ninth of August 1998, Alex Rider woke up wiser. Not by much, mind you, but he for once understood what Socrates meant when he had said that he knew that he knew nothing. Having one's perception of the world shattered was quite humbling, and Alex had thought himself well-seen before Harry had waltzed into his life and gave him a taste of the supernatural.

And yes, it did sound insane, but if you eliminated the impossible, whatever remained, however improbable, had to be the truth… and all that rot… In light of Alex' most recent brush with death, _magic_ was an explanation that actually _made sense_.

It was an immensely, _indescribably_ terrifying thought.

An insulated community. Archaic practices. Out of his league. A child dying to prevent a madman from returning to life. Put into perspective, all of those little pieces fit together into the most fantastic puzzle Alex had ever solved. No wonder they were self-governing: Alex wouldn't want to face Harry in a fight, even with all of his training and reflexes and experience pitched against nothing but the _magic_.

He still couldn't get over the _magic_ part, but he supposed that was to be expected.

"Muggle guest is to be going to the living room promptly," a hoarse voice proclaimed suddenly.

Alex jumped and reached for the gun he didn't have, scanning the previously empty room to spot what produced the sound.

There was what looked like a Roswell Grey standing next to a _floating_ tray of full English breakfast, except that it was kind of greenish, had floppy, bitten-on ears and wore a towel in stead of a loincloth.

…Alex was prone to walking nightmares, but this one was unusually determined to prove itself real.

"Is the muggle deaf?" the little alien questioned, adjusting its loincloth.

Alex bit down on a fit of hysterical laughter and shook his head. "Who are you?"

"Kreacher is Kreacher," the alien replied. "Kreacher is Master Harry Potter's elf. The stupid muggle is asking no more stupid questions, and is going to the living room _now_."

Static cracked as the 'elf' got angrier, and it was all Alex could do to file Harry's surname for later before he was forcibly ushered (and how did a two-foot bones-and-skin creature manage that?) out of his bedroom. He snagged his shirt as he passed the chair, and pulled it on and buttoned it up along the way.

In daylight, the house looked a little less sinister, as if there was a thin veneer of normalcy the sun cast on everything. Unfortunately, it only lasted until Alex reached the first landing.

He was fairly certain that the picture hadn't been moving last night. Right. _Magic_. Still looked like a wild hallucination to him: even Cray's sick real-life game had been perfectly mundane compared to an oil painting of man in a robe coming to life and quite creatively cussing Alex out.

Harry was in the living room, sitting at a table, writing with a _quill_, which he periodically dipped in an ink bottle, on a sheet of _parchment_. An eagle owl was perched on top of a celestial globe. Harry finished, blew on the writing, folded the parchment, stood and extended his hand.

The owl obediently swooped down and landed on his forearm, and Harry deftly, one-handedly, attached the parchment to its leg. It took off through the window, which Harry closed afterwards.

"Good morning?" Alex offered when Harry turned to him.

"Nothing good about it," Harry replied darkly. Obviously, he wasn't in a good mood – not that Alex had expected him to be. He looked tired, more tired than yesterday, pale and with bags under his eyes. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt way too large for him, which only accentuated the slump of his shoulders.

"Harry," Alex spoke as Kreacher the elf set the tray with food on the recently freed table and disappeared, "for what it's worth, I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean to put you into danger." He was being earnest, too.

Harry didn't seem to appreciate it. He flopped back down onto the sofa, poured himself a mug of coffee and drank deeply, not adding sugar or milk or anything to make it palatable. When he was finished savouring the horrible concoction, he opened his eyes and glared at Alex. "Just as, if I hadn't rescued you, you wouldn't have meant for the werewolf to be executed when the Ministry found he had killed someone. Just as you wouldn't have wanted for his child to become a complete orphan." He took another sip and continued, now staring into the depths of the mug. "I've seen things done in the name of Greater Good that make me sick just thinking about them, but doing such things in the name of your own curiosity? Even we didn't do that."

Alex was sorry, but he didn't know what he could do other than apologise. "I had to know that you weren't a threat," he tried to explain.

It didn't work. Harry poured himself more black, bitter coffee and pointed out: "I wasn't, and you knew it because Willowcrook told you so. She even warned you to keep your nose out of my business. I accept my part of the responsibility – I shouldn't have invited you."

In hindsight, that would have been a rather senseless idea, although Alex still wasn't sure if he regretted Harry's lapse of judgment.

"Now-" Harry continued, "-I am a threat to you, because you made me angry, and there are a few hundred people that could tell you that when I get angry, I'm dangerous. I might or might not know what you do-" That was as good as an admission. "-because, let's face it, you don't know the limits of magic and I'm not inclined to tell you. You've already proven yourself untrustworthy."

Alex grimaced. That wasn't how he had thought about it. He had just wanted… to know. Of course Harry would deny him more knowledge.

"Since we've established that I can't trust you, and because I really don't want to go to prison over you, you're going to give me your binding word that you will never communicate any information about magic or magical world to anyone, in any way."

"Just out of interest, what are the consequences of breaking this 'binding word'?"

It was the first question of a habitual oath-breaker and Harry knew it, because he glared so hard that his eyes actually _flashed_. It was an awesome effect, but in the current setting it gave Alex shivers.

"Well, that depends on the severity," Harry mocked. "Unless you come right out and give a detailed description of everything complete with graphs and charts, it shouldn't kill you. It'll just scramble your mind."

Alex shuddered. Harry was an accomplished enough actor that it might have been a bluff, but bluffing was usually the last resort (Alex was intimately familiar with it) and with effing _magic_ on his side, Harry was far from cornered.

"And… what happens if I don't give it?"

"Then I'll erase your memory. I'm no good at the charm, though – in fact, this would be my first time attempting it – so I'd probably turn you into vegetable." Harry took a glance at the look of horror on Alex' face and continued, a little more cheerfully: "Look at the silver lining! At least you won't be having any nightmares about werewolves! Not all of us are so lucky… and I really didn't need a new nightmare."

That reminded Alex rather acutely of the beast he had 'met' last night. He glanced out of the window: there was a deserted dingy square there, no people, and definitely no Full Moon. "If I give you my word, will you let me see the werewolf again?"

"No," Harry refuted, upping the level of animosity yet again. "Remus is sleeping, and he has a lot of healing to do in the next forty-eight hours, so he won't be made into a spectacle for you."

"Remus _Lupin_?"

"Remus thought you were an idiot," Harry said exasperatedly. "I know how it can make your life easier to act stupid. The expectations are not so high and it strokes people's egos when they think they're smarter."

Alex could have added that the baddies (those who didn't recognise him on sight) never suspected him when he was being an airheaded teenager.

"_I_ know you're not stupid, or you wouldn't have survived this long." Harry set his coffee down and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He had Alex' full attention anyway – with how he was hinting at information he certainly shouldn't have been privy to, Alex literally couldn't ignore him. "However, what you've done last night was downright imbecilic. So be a good guest now and don't give me a reason to transfigure you into a toad and let you loose in a marsh."

Alex closed his mouth. His mind ran in circles, always going back to how valid the threat was. It sounded – legitimate. He gulped.

If he was a toad (though his rational mind kicked and screamed at the mere allusion), no one, not even Blunt and Mrs Jones, not Scorpia, not _anybody_ would ever find him. And Harry wouldn't even have to be nervous about being caught, because, let's face it: _magic_.

"Your word?" Harry repeated. "And don't try to weasel out of it, Sherlock. This house will only allow you to leave when I tell it to, and even if you somehow escaped, Kreacher could hunt you to the end of the Earth and beyond."

Alex stared at the odd black-and-white crest decorating the empty plate in front of him. It looked like two dogs supporting a shield-

"Your word, Alex _Rider_?"

Alex had not told Harry his full name, but should have expected that Harry would have found out. It made sense. With _magic_, Harry had to be unparalleled at intelligence gathering. He would have made a damn fine agent, too.

"Why don't you want to tell anyone?" Alex asked, stalling, waiting for his mind to get accustomed to the new matrix of thinking, one that took into account that he could not take things at face value anymore, and he was apparently breakfasting with the _magical_ equivalent of Jesus Christ.

He had never been religious, and wasn't about to start, but that kind of meeting changed your life.

Harry scoffed (it was somehow difficult to imagine Jesus scoffing – and wasn't he supposed to be able to turn water into wine rather than buy it in supermarkets?). "And have _your_ kind do autopsy on me while I'm still alive, to find out how I work? No, thank you."

It might have been a coincidence, but Alex recalled Dr Grief's promise and the brief incarceration at Major Yu's clinic… and the Inquisition mentioned in the few History lessons he had actually attended. He really couldn't begrudge Harry his reticence.

Alex hated having a _magical_ embargo on his thoughts, but it was much better to be prepared (from now on he could expect things to go awry in case there was a _magic_-user involved) and, more importantly, he really didn't need another enemy, especially not one with Harry's capabilities. Resigned, Alex met Harry's eyes and solemnly said: "I swear I will not inform anyone about your world or your… _magic_."

Harry made a swirly motion with his stick – wand? – and mumbled something unintelligible. Briefly they were surrounded by a glow, and then everything went back to normal, except Alex felt prickling around his left wrist. A tattoo-like character, presumably a rune, stood out against his skin. He scowled.

"This can get me killed," he pointed out.

Harry waved the stick again, chanted '_hocus pocus_' or thereabout and the rune disappeared. Alex could still feel it when he rubbed the spot with his index finger, but it was perfectly invisible. "This is crazy…"

"This is illegal," Harry corrected him. "But it's not as if that would bother you much, is it?"

"How much do you know about me?" Alex asked with some trepidation. He sucked at killing people, but his 'binding word' gave him enough room to discretely point MI6 in Harry's direction.

Harry suddenly chuckled; the sound was horribly hollow. "You've known me for a week, and already you're planning to kill me."

Alex opened his mouth to deny it, but Harry waved his hand and silenced him – literally.

"I have a sixth sense for homicidal intentions," Harry stated. "I've been assassinated so many times that I get nervous if I've not been jumped by someone every couple of days. I also suck at picking out new acquaintances."

Alex didn't think he was quite that bad… then again, he _had_ let a werewolf loose in Harry's house just last night, and _was_ now weighing the pros and cons of premeditated murder… okay, maybe Alex _was_ that bad. It wasn't all his fault, though!

"I'll make your life a bit easier for you," Harry said, standing up. "No one else will be able to see this house, so if you try and send someone after me, it will do nothing but make you look stupid. Which, come to think of it, you might find handy, so go right ahead."

Alex didn't have time to react to the flippancy, because the food and tableware disappeared with a pop, and he was busy jumping to his feet in shock.

He had to get out of this House of Horrors before he'd go completely cuckoo.

"Can I go?" Alex asked, glad that his voice was working again and wishing he had sufficient leverage so that he could have phrased that as a statement.

Harry shrugged. "I'm not your jailer. Kreacher! See Alex to the door, please. And lock up behind him."

The alien – _elf_ – appeared with a quiet crack and glared at Alex, who obediently followed it. He paused in the door and looked back.

Harry was staring out of the window at the rain-wet, sunlit square void of people, hugging his chest, practically huddled onto himself, wrapped in that tent-like shirt. Alex felt a sharp pang of regret: he could almost feel the friendship he had lost through his unquenchable curiosity and lack of regard for others' privacy. He would have liked Harry – hell, he did like him as things stood. He was freaked out by him, too, and could see very well that the rest of Harry's isolated community felt similarly.

It must have been extremely difficult to identify the superhuman persona that Harry had slid into while facing a werewolf with the fragile teenager who lacked for friends. No wonder he had no drinking buddies.

"Please," Alex said quietly, as the last thing before he walked back into normal life, "convey my apologies to Mr Lupin as well. Goodbye, Harry."


	6. Pack

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for support and concrit! I was actually a little surprised – people thought that Alex shouldn't have been so unbalanced after discovering magic, rather than in the past three years he would have already inadvertently stumbled on a wizard. Nevertheless, I maintain that he wasn't given the time to process and react rationally, and neither was Harry and… anyway, it kind of works out. Hopefully, the epilogue doesn't disappoint. Let me know.

Brynn

x

Epilogue: Pack

x

Alex ran up the darkened street, splashing rainwater left and right. His sneakers were wet all the way through, but he couldn't see the puddles – all the lamps along the footpath were broken – so he couldn't avoid them.

He heard the guys huffing out quiet breaths, following on his heels. It was surreal. The only thing missing was the damn forest, and it would be just like Brecon Beacons again.

Finally! Alex took a sharp right turn and concentrated. Where had Harry said he lived? A grim old place (very grim and very old), number twelve, because superstition said it was unlucky. No one would miss a house number twelve if they couldn't see it.

Alex hoped this worked.

"What the fuck, Cub?" Wolf growled after he had almost bowled Alex over.

"Are we there yet?" Eagle asked, and promptly received a fist to someplace sensitive by someone unappreciative of his sense of humour (which would have been anyone else).

"You're sure this is a good idea?" Zebra muttered. "I know you swear by him, but he's a kid-"

"Alex is an adult," Ben pointed out. He refrained from mentioning how recently that had become fact, and Alex was too busy putting the address together in his head to intrude on their conversation.

There!

Alex ran up the stairs that appeared out of nowhere. Luckily he was too wired on adrenaline to dwell on how _weird_ this was. He rang the bell.

"Cub?" Snake called. "Cub, where the heck did you vanish?"

"I'm here!" Alex reassured him, and rang again.

Shouting came from the inside of the house; a screeching female voice let out an impressive, mildly-vulgar rant, disparaging the various occupants of the house. Most of the epithets were, presumably, directed at Harry.

"Get back here!" Wolf ordered.

"Give me a sec!" Alex returned. He ignored Wolf's growling and Zebra's dissentient mumbling, and hoped to whatever deity was listening that Harry would get the door before the cold-and-desperation-inducing entity caught up to them. Or before the guys came to blows. Or before Eagle started singing nursery rhymes. That had happened, according to Ben. Once. It had ended with Eagle and Wolf in need of first aid.

"Cub, where the fuck are you?"

The muffled shouting from inside the house was suddenly cut off. About five seconds later, the door opened, and a sleep-deprived Harry wrapped in a black dressing gown that trailed after him glared at Alex.

"Hi," Alex said a little helplessly.

Harry snorted. "I'm thinking several things, and none of them are child-friendly. Why are you and five bodybuilders on my doorstep in the middle of this already shitty night?"

Standing in a rectangle of light coming from nowhere, the four SAS soldiers and one MI6 agents were, understandably, confused.

"Cub?"

"Alex, what's going on?"

"We're gonna die!"

"Shit, son of a bitch… bloody buggering-"

Alex ignored them as best as he could and tried to convey just how much he needed help through his facial expression and desperate tone of voice: "We've stumbled upon your playground. We're being hunted, and I don't have a clue what is hunting us." He hoped that was vague yet descriptive enough to convince Harry to assist them, while at the same time not scrambling Alex' mind for giving away the secret.

Harry groaned, pulled off his glasses and rubbed his face.

Behind Alex, Zebra continued displaying his vocabulary and Ben was holding Wolf back from wringing Eagle's neck. Snake remained on the fringes of the melee, with a gun in his hands, scanning the pitch-blackness for signs of attack.

"This is not your clever, sneaky way of forcing me to let a group of professional killers into my house so you can get rid of me?" Harry asked.

Alex shook his head. It didn't look good for him, but he could offer no proof. Moreover, the time was pressing them.

"Details?" Harry asked. He was holding himself upright with the help of a doorframe, but his expression was uncompromising.

"Didn't see anything, but temperature sank several degrees in an instance. Lights went out. Zebra swears he saw a black cloak, kind of like Death only without the scythe. Eagle went catatonic for a moment there – I remembered-"

"When?" Harry asked, suddenly alert. Alex recognised the signs of an adrenaline rush.

"Five, ten minutes ago? Don't know, we were running-"

"Get inside," Harry said, and kicked the wall for a good measure. Then he raised his voice to be heard over the scuffle between K Unit members: "My home is at Grimmauld Place Number Twelve!"

Snake and Zebra reacted immediately. Zebra swore. Snake jolted in shock, and blinked several times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Then he kicked Wolf in the back of his calf and pointed.

The group hushed and stared.

Alex moved so that he stood between the guys and Harry, just in case one of them decided to be tetchy and pulled out a gun on the man who might just save their asses. Besides, he didn't want to know what an annoyed, recently woken and shocked into full awareness wizard would do if threatened on top of it.

"Come in," Harry repeated, spun on his heel and walked into the house.

Alex followed him, but remained standing just past the threshold. K Unit needed to be convinced before they approached the house that had turned up where there previously was none, and once they did, Alex warned them: "It's in your own interest to be as polite as you can manage. Harry is… not someone you want to cross."

Eagle laughed it off, Wolf pretended to ignore it and Zebra scoffed; at least Snake and Ben were smart enough to take Alex seriously. Hopefully, they would prevent any bloodshed from commencing.

Harry tacitly handed Alex a candlestick, and after a moment of deliberation passed another to Ben. They had been, apparently, judged as trustworthy enough to carry a potential weapon. Not that Harry hadn't noticed their holsters; every one of them had at least one gun on their body, though it hadn't helped them in the least when they had faced the cold-and-desperation-inducing thing.

"Alex," Harry said civilly, "you remember the way to the living room?"

Alex nodded.

"If you wander off, I'll let you die this time," Harry said so levelly that Alex believed it. "The same goes for the others." He swept the group with a cold look, and scoffed when he saw that only two of them took him with any amount of seriousness.

"Cub, _what the fuck is going on_?" Wolf whispered insistently. It carried in the hall, but Harry disregarded it.

"None of us have the skills this situation demands," Alex said, meeting Wolf's glare with his own. "I asked for help to ensure that we, and the rest of London, hopefully, get out of this mess alive."

"Your great help is a kid?" Zebra scoffed.

The curtain opposite the entrance rippled, and Alex felt a shiver down his spine.

"Keep your voice down!" he hissed at the man. "Harry is older than me, and he knows better what to do than all of us put together. He's an _expert_. Now stop yapping and get a move on!"

Harry had vanished during the interlude, but Alex could hear his voice from downstairs, distant but clear, saying: "-mione, I need her here! I've got a Statute of Secrecy breach, and I don't want Ministry Obliviators invading my house-"

Alex made damn sure that the K Unit plus Fox were all ensconced in the living room. Eagle, Ben and Snake settled on the sofa. Wolf leant against the wall next to the darkened window, and Zebra stood in front of the fireplace, examining the pictures on the ledge. Interestingly, Alex noted that the pictures were stationary, even though he remembered them moving.

Harry walked in a minute later, carrying a tray with improbably quickly acquired pots of tea and coffee, and a stack of china. He set it down onto the table.

Alex commended his decision to spare K Unit a meeting with Kreacher the elf. Harry probably didn't feel like digging bullets out of his walls.

"I alerted the proper authorities," Harry informed Alex, tightening the sash of (dubitably) his dressing gown. "The problem should be dealt with soon. It's rather serious – high-priority."

"The… Ministry?" Alex asked, frowning. A year was quite a long time, and the conversations he had had with Harry, all of which had been abridged, were faded in his memory. He had heard Harry mentioning the Ministry a moment ago, though, so that was a fair bet.

"Right," Harry replied.

"Who are you?" Wolf barked then, at the very limit of his patience.

Harry gave the big, burly, glaring soldier a look someone might give an irritating little kid.

Alex was impressed.

"I'm Harry, your host and personal Saviour for tonight. You can direct the genuflecting to my assistant, who will be here momentarily."

Alex choked on a laugh; Ben, too, had to cover a smile. The look of Wolf's face as he deciphered the insult was priceless. Then the man raised his heckles and it got a lot less funny and a lot more dangerous.

"Harry," Alex spoke up to prevent a massacre, "these are my – business associates." If Harry had been telling the truth about being aware of Alex' job, he would know what that meant. "The one you have been antagonising is Wolf, to your left stands Zebra, on the sofa, left to right, Eagle, Fox and Snake."

"And you're _Cub_," Harry filled in. "You're like a travelling Zoo!"

Alex snorted, together with Eagle and Ben. Wolf and Zebra chose to be offended instead. Snake just tried to keep himself together; he had been affected badly.

Harry either followed Alex' train of thoughts or read his mind, because he took a tablet of chocolate from the tray, broke off a piece, put it into his mouth, and extended the rest to Snake. The man glanced up, surprised.

Harry sighed and stepped closer. With exaggerated slowness, he pressed his palm to Snake's forehead. Snake was trembling, but he allowed the contact, stupefied by what was going on. Harry crouched so that Snake didn't have to crane his neck to meet his eyes, and pressed the chocolate into Snake's hand.

"Eat it," Harry insisted. "It will make you feel better."

Snake looked skeptical, but he did take a bite. The effect was shocking. Within seconds, colour began to return to his face.

"What's in it?" Eagle asked, turning another tablet over and perusing the contents.

"Sugar," Harry replied. "Cocoa, I suppose. Other stuff. Take a piece, each of you. You too, Alex. I'll be right-"

"Harry!" a girl's voice yelled.

Harry swore.

Running footsteps thumped outside, and a red-haired girl appeared in the doorway, dressed way too lightly for the weather.

"Ginny?" Harry inquired. His exhaustion was rapidly returning.

The girl surveyed the soldiers piled in the room and shook her head, wide-eyed. "Life's always interesting around you, Harry." Then she stepped in and smiled confidently. "Won't you introduce me to your friends?"

"Not my friends," Harry said resolutely. "And when Hermione gets here, they won't be remembering me anymore."

"Muggles?" the girl asked curiously, and flushed when Wolf gave her the evil eye.

"Mostly," Harry replied. He pointed at Zebra. "I think that one's a squib. He could see a dementor. On the other hand, he didn't recognise it…"

The girl shrugged. "Some of the Darker families still dispose of non-magical children."

There were twin looks of rage on their faces, and for a while silence stretched.

"Alex," Ben spoke then, wary of the rising tension, "I'm sure we would all appreciate a briefing-"

"You can wait," Harry shot him down. Then he turned to the girl. "Ginny, these are muggles who had the bad luck of stumbling upon some dementors. The younger one over there is Alex, a… an acquaintance. Due to circumstances, he didn't have his mind wiped." He paused and took a deep breath. "Now, I have no idea why you're here, and I'm really not in the mood to listen to explanations, but while you _are_ here, you can help by taking care of Mr Snake, who had an adverse reaction to the dementors and is still a bit out of it. No one will attempt to harm you, and if they even think about it, I'll feed them to a dragon."

Alex heard the warning, and so did Ben, apparently, but big bad SAS soldiers were too hard-headed to listen to someone less than half their weight.

"Look, you little cretin-"

Zebra all of sudden found himself unable to speak. His mouth kept moving, but no sound came out.

Harry calmly stashed his wand away. "Thank you for your attention," he said sarcastically.

Wolf was stubborn, but not stupid – he finally got a clue about the balance of power, and decided to not stir up trouble unless it was necessary. Thank goodness.

Then Harry was gone, and his female friend – Ginny – perched on the armrest of the sofa and put a hand on Snake's forehead like Harry had done earlier. She smiled at him, whispered something that appeared to reassure him, and clasped his shoulder. Snake nodded at Wolf to show that he was alright.

"How long will the silencing last?" Alex asked after a while.

Ginny shrugged. "It depends on the caster's power. Normally up to a week. Harry's Silencio… hmm… a year or two, I'd say. Unless someone cancels it."

A year or two?

Zebra must have felt similarly, because he started gesticulating wildly and stomping, and then did some unintelligible version of charades. At one point he took a threatening step toward the girl, but Alex raised his hand and made a cutthroat motion with the other.

"Would you cancel it, please?" Ben requested.

Ginny shook her head. "I don't know what's going on. Harry is the one who makes the decisions, because he's the one saving our lives all the time. It's never a good idea to go against him. We all learned that the hard way."

Then Eagle started humming 'Mary Had a Little Lamb,' and Alex realised they were at the ends of their respective ropes. A long, tedious assignment, a tumultuous trip back, an interrupted goodbye, a spontaneous attempted rescue of a couple of civilians and a run for their lives across night London had sucked out all energy from them. The entire _magic_ part was just over the top.

Alex dimly remembered his reaction, and he had been more-or-less rested at the time.

He wasn't sure if these dementors weren't worse than the werewolf. At least he had been able to see the werewolf, might have been able to fight it…

Bright blue glow filtered in from outside, and Ginny jumped to her feet and ran to the window. The men all moved for cover, but the girl ducked when Wolf attempted to reach for her and pull her into safety, and pressed her palms to the glass.

"The idiot!" she exclaimed.

Alex stepped up to her to convince her to hide, but when he saw what was going on in the square, he remained glued to the window as well.

The previously dark square was illuminated by pulsating light originating from Harry. A pair of red-robed individuals appeared incapacitated, much like the K Unit had been; one of them was lying in a puddle, the other kneeling on the curb and, though Alex couldn't hear it, screaming. Harry stood half-way between them, and with wide waves of his wand directed a moving venison-shaped glowing object (straight out of Industrial Light and Magic) around.

After a while the two robed people lifted themselves upright, and produced similar shapes of light, one distinctly a bird, the other some kind of feline.

K Unit gathered behind Alex and Ginny, watching over their shoulders as Harry and the 'authorities' dispatched some invisible enemy, rowed, and then went separate ways. Harry returned to the house; the two strangers moved down the road where the 'dementors' had come from.

Half a minute later, Harry barged into the room, this time accompanied by a young woman who also wore a robe. She had a veritable _explosion_ of hair on her head.

"Why do people insist on being morons?" Harry inquired, throwing himself onto the abandoned sofa.

"I don't know," Alex replied, as baffled as Harry himself was, but too resigned to the fact to get worked up about it. He sat down as well, poured a cup of coffee and, offered it to Harry. "Hm?"

Harry took it and emptied it in two gulps.

"You're such a _hero_, Harry James Potter," the woman with a lot of hair said, rolling her eyes.

"Stop insulting me!" Harry grumbled.

"It's not an insult!" Ginny exclaimed. "Harry, you saved all our lives, so many times-" and she launched into a spiel about the flowers growing in Harry's footsteps and the land blossoming blessed by his holy presence and…

Harry glared at hairy woman, accusing her of being the cause of his current circumstance, and then at Alex, presumably for bringing about the need to rescue some hapless victims. Alex sympathised. At least his work was secret – this kind of harassment he could do without.

"Hermione," Harry cut into Ginny's rant. "Could you please Obliviate the muggles before they tear us to pieces?"

The woman nodded solemnly and surveyed the group of men congregated in front of the window. "Which one of you is Zebra?"

Faced with what they perceived was an enemy, K Unit tightened to create a united front. Alex 'betrayed' and pointed the guy out before Hermione became impatient and started cursing someone _literally_.

Hermione nodded to the man and said: "You have an option: you can take an oath of non-disclosure, of Obliviation."

Alex, quick on the uptake, scowled. He was a 'muggle,' and if an oath was only an option for 'squibs' (whatever the distinction)… "But-"

"I told you it was illegal," Harry said, and gulped down another cup of coffee. Then he shrugged. "Don't make me regret it, Alex."

"I won't," Alex promised. He meant it, too.

"You know the oddest people, Alex," Ben said, shaking his head. He approached Hermione and offered his hand. She shook it. "I assume 'Obliviation' means memory-adjustment?"

"Yes," Hermione replied. "There is a side-effect of temporary confusion, lasting up to twelve hours depending on the severity of the lost memory, but there will be no lasting damage. We have been doing this for a long time, and I am as capable an Obliviator as any professional."

"More capable," Harry corrected.

Hermione smiled, but otherwise didn't react.

"Well," Ben said helplessly, "thank you for the help. I'll go first, if you don't mind."

Alex was intensely grateful, even though he didn't know how to express it. Wolf tried to protest and argued that as the leader, he should be the one to go first, but Ben was an MI6 agent and thus technically Wolf's superior.

Hermione directed Fox to sit down in an armchair, aimed her wand between his eyes, and incanted: "_Obliviate_!"

Ben slumped, then he shook himself and blinked repeatedly. He searched the room, noticed the K Unit and Alex, and mutely sought some kind of explanation.

"Alex," Harry spoke up. "Take him to the hall so he can relax a bit."

Alex nodded. It would undo all effects of memory-removal, if Ben just witnessed the K Unit going through the same process. He guided Ben out and closed the door.

"W-what's going on?" the man asked, squinting at the odd décor on the walls.

"Drugs, probably," Alex replied. That would account for the confusion. "One of my friends has found us. We'll be fine."

"Oh… okay…" Ben did sound confused.

The door opened then, and Ginny led out Wolf, who promptly sat down on the moth-eaten carpet and rubbed his temples.

"I'll be right back," Alex said, and returned inside just in time to grab the freshly 'Obliviated' Eagle. Harry helped with Snake. Zebra tried to wiggle out, but Hermione zapped him with the spell before Alex could point out that Zebra couldn't object due to being silenced.

Harry shrugged, nailed the man in the back with a whispered "_Finite_," and presumably took care of that.

A bewildered K Unit with the addition of two MI6 agents trudged downstairs. Harry led them out of the house, and even pretended to be friendly while they were looking around. They didn't seem to notice that the house they had just exited didn't appear to be there anymore.

"Why don't you come over for the night?" Alex asked uncertainly. He didn't think letting them go their ways in their present state was very safe.

"Sleepover!" Eagle exclaimed.

Scarily, the others seemed excited at the prospect.

"That's normal," Hermione assured him. "It will fade in three or four hours."

"So, in the meantime they'll be acting like little kids?" Alex asked. Now that the dangerous part was over, his sense of mischief was alerting him to the possibility of gathering excellent future blackmail.

"For the most part," Hermione agreed.

Alex smirked. "Thanks," he said, and shook the woman's hand. He waved to Ginny, who was watching from the doorway.

Eagle followed the example (so did Ben and _Wolf_) and yelled "Bye-bye!" at the top of his lungs.

"Bye," Hermione said and yawned. "I ought to get back to bed, Harry. Next time you have a crisis, try not to do it in the middle of the night, 'kay?"

Harry promised.

Alex watched her go, and then turned to the boy that was, no matter how much he denied it, a 'bloody' hero. Alex felt that if anyone had the right to make such an accusation, it was himself. "Thanks, Harry, for everything. And I'm sorry I was – you know."

"An idiot," Harry filled in dryly.

"Yes, I suppose," Alex admitted. He would have been more forgiving, but then it wasn't him risking his life to save the proverbial cat from falling victim to its curiosity. "Say, how would you like to work-"

"I won't be anyone's Saviour, Alex," Harry refused without leaving the slightest room for argument. "But if you need help – I'll be a friend."


End file.
